Mirana of Marmoreal
by TheFutilitarian
Summary: Mirana's POV. Given the blank slate her character is in the movie, this can be either interpreted as 'canon' or as AU. It really depends on how you saw her. Implied femslash throughout. Each chapter a scene from the movie.
1. Anticipation

"_The trees seem sad. Have you been speaking to them?"_

"_Yes, your majesty."_

"_Perhaps a bit more kindly?"_

It pains me to instruct others to carry out tasks I cannot do. Nature itself wilts in my presence – unlike these subjects of the court, it sees what lies within. What good am I as queen when darkness lives and breathes inside of me? Underland has had its fill of that, it doesn't need any more.

Iracebeth.

She has freedom I can only dream of; freedom to embrace all that she is. The longing to do the same is strong today; has only grown since that dreadful day. It's why I need for her to come – Alice; my champion.

She will return that which is rightfully mine – crown, sword and kingdom – needed shackles.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Bayard in the distance.

"_Would you all excuse me for a moment? Thank you."_

Propriety bids me check the courtiers are out of sight before I dash too eagerly to greet him. I cannot help it; I'm running out of time. It won't be long until I'm unable to resist, before all the potion making in the world won't stave off urges I mustn't indulge.

"_What news, Bayard?"_

"_Alice has returned to Underland."_

Euphoria sweeps through me, so strong I cannot hide it. Just for a moment, darkness recedes. She's here at last - impatience mixes with excitement.

"_Where is she now?"_

"_In Salazam Grom. Forgive me, I allowed her to divert from her destined path."_

So yet again, The Oraculum doesn't lie. Her choice, Bayard is right, but also not. Fate wills it to be so and Alice can't change that; none of us can change what's written in the stars. I wonder then, what else has been foreseen? What if Alice is not enough? What if –

This path allows the darkness to intrude again but now I have just enough strength to resist its grasp. I manage to push it to the side, choose to bestow a kindness where it's owed.

"_No, no, no…but that is exactly where she will find the Vorpal sword. We have our champion. Rest now, you have done well." _

Inadvertently, anticipation transmits itself to my hands. They're how I've always expressed emotion. I scratch his head, momentarily forgetting my own oaths. He drops down tiredly before me, his tongue lolling out to flop onto my dress. Whatever stains he leaves do not concern me, I've dozens more where that one came from. All of them are the pristine white of snow; all serve exactly the same purpose – that of my cover and my prison.

There's far too much to do, one cannot think like this. I stroke his head again and suddenly I realise what I am doing. My fingers immediately twitch in trepidation. These days, I don't allow my hands to feel, persist in keeping them raised in the air at my side. What if my darkness is catching? What if all it takes to break free is just a simple touch? No, best to be safe, even at the expense of looking slightly mad. After all, all the best people are – Tarrant has always told me so. I know he'll help me guide her, this Alice. He's always been there for me, with me. Sometimes I wonder what he sees, worry that it's been too much. Will she be able to help him too? Will she return him to what he was, just as I pray she restores me?

I hope for all these things even as I wonder to myself- what'll she be like, this champion of mine?


	2. Audience

She is so much more than anything I could've ever imagined. No, not in height, though she is very tall - I tell myself it is exactly that which overwhelms me. Her smile brings sunshine and hope, leaving me powerless but to smile in return.

"_Welcome to Marmoreal."_

Nothing can befuddle me into forgetting a proper greeting - a good sovereign maintains decorum at all times though I am lost for proper etiquette on what she makes me feel inside. If it exists, I've never known it.

"_I believe this belongs to you."_

She's still smiling as she extends the sword to me. I bask in the glow of trust within her eyes. Its warmth stays with me until the sword is in my grasp. Its power infuses me with purpose even as it feeds the darkness clamouring for release. I close my eyes, not because that is what I need to help me see – I've spent many a conscious moment imagining its use to execute many a grave misdeed. No, this time I close my eyes to hide. There's one more person now who mustn't see what I truly am. She's more important than all, for it is crucial she believes me to be good. Wait, I _am_ good. I must remind myself of this even as the lines of distinction between the two blur more and more inside my mind. I open my eyes; find her gaze still trained on me. I discover my own strength within it, enough courage to be able to turn away to place the sword into its rightful place.

"_The Vorpal Sword is home again. The armour is complete. Now all we need is a Champion."_

I turn around expectantly, inwardly falter. Why is she looking so uncertain? I feel a moment of panic - did she see? What if there's nothing I can hide from her? I cannot fail - too much, too many, rely on me. Suddenly I realise, she's not looking at me. Her eyes size up the glistening metal, practically biting her bottom lip as she compares the discrepancies in height. Oh. _Oh_. Understanding dawns, even as kindness bids me lower my voice into a whisper, a secret just for us to share. _There's so much more I want to share with her_. Unbidden, this strange thought enters my head. I'm not quite sure of its meaning; I only know that it's very hard to shake it off. Nevertheless, I succeed – right now I must focus on easing her concerns.

"_You're a little taller than I thought you'd be."_

Her smile has grown shy and a little impish. Irresistibly, it draws me in.

"_Blame it on too much Upelkuchen."_

Wait, did I ask a question? I realise I am gawking like a child staring at its first carnival candy and I nearly blush. Ah, height, yes, that's it. It is her only concern, I tell myself. Relief trickles through me – a problem I can easily fix. I try desperately hard to ignore the wave of pleasure that passes over me at the unexpected gift – a little more time, just her and I. The train of thought makes me almost blush again – what's wrong with me today? I have to extend her my hand in a ruse which at least lets me hide my face. I can't let her see me like this either, I don't even know what I'm trying to conceal. I give her my hand.

"_Oh. Come with me."_

I feel a jolt when her own touches mine and I have to fight hard not to look at her. Fear rears within me - what if I've ruined it, her? What if the thing inside –

No. Warmth radiates from that meagre contact, darkness retreating with a hiss. Of course, I shouldn't have worried. After all, she is everything I could've hoped for – Alice – this champion of mine.

* * *

Catching sight of my potions returns my certainty, familiar ground steadying me as always. I've lost track of how many nights I've spent here lately. I can probably do this in my sleep, in fact one time I think I did. She kneels and leans on the other side of the table, grinning across from me. It's both too close and too far away. Somehow, even in my sanctuary she manages to unnerve me; my hands flutter uselessly, searching for well-known ingredients like a novice encountering all of this for the very first time.

"_Psshaww… now let me think…"_

I look away so I can re-focus. Already I've had to do far too much of that around her.

"…_a pinch of worm fat…"_

I smile at her smile. She makes me remember the excitement of sitting in her place, watching my mother do this time and time again.

"…_urine of the horsefly…"_

This time my smile is the result of her dismay. Potion ingredients are complex and unusual; it takes time to understand them, to see past what they are to what they'll finally become.

"…fingers…"

I pause to smell those, it's a silly mistake. The scent brings different memories now, ones that are far more dark. Surely, here, I am safe. I have my craft and now I have my champion – I can let a trickle of darkness loose, get answers to questions I've avoided for so long. The severed finger is a start; it lets me segue into the subject on my terms.

"_My sister preferred to study the dominion over living things…"_

Unlike me.I don't voice this thought but I'm certain she hears it all the same.

"_Tell me, how does she seem to you?"_

How do_ I_ seem to you_ – _that's really what I ask. For Iracebeth and I are irrevocably the same – the only thing that separates us is control and as of late, mine is tenuous at best. So tell me, my champion, what you really think of me.

"_Perfectly horrid."_

The answer is accompanied by a grimace, my own face twisting to reflect it. It's not because her aversion is unexpected – what lies within is hideous indeed – it's hearing her voice these feelings out loud. Somehow it hurts far worse than anything ever has, to know what she would think if she was able to see inside of me. The pain only feeds the darkness, and bit by bit I feel it creeping up.

"_And her…head?"_

That's always an awkward topic – my pained expression will simply pass as discomfort at its nature. She mustn't see how much this hurts me, can't be allowed to guess the source.

"_Bulbous."_

I find myself holding the knife, my hand trembling as it longs to satisfy the pull of my internal craving. I'm rambling now, trying desperately to hold myself together. She mustn't see, I really can't let her see -

"_I think she may have some sort of growth there, something pressing on her brain, three coins from a dead man's pocket, two teaspoons of wishful thinking…"_

I focus on my task and paste a smile on my lips. It's all an act, of course, but I've had years to perfect it. That's one advantage to being queen – you quickly learn how to fool everyone else. But Alice isn't smiling now and fear takes hold of me again. She's guessed, she's about to tell me -

"_You can't imagine the things that go on in that place…"_

The darkness truly rears now. It paints pictures in my mind, so ugly that I want to scream _I don't have to imagine anything, I know exactly what goes on_! Because they go on in here too, it's just there is only one recipient – me - I, alone, trapped in their wicked grasp. I release it then, just a little – the fear, the anguish, all of the torment trapped inside.

"_Oh yes, I can."_

I let her see it in my eyes because I realise hiding is foolish, wrong. She must be made to understand, even if ultimately I'll pay the price. Her respect is worth far less than the weight of countless lives which wait on her to make the proper choice. As I confront myself, she must do the same in turn – in many ways her role is greater than my own. There are others capable of benevolent rule - there is, however, no other Alice.

"_But when a champion steps forth to slay the Jabberwocky, the people will rise against her…"_

I gingerly spit to complete the mixture, wiping my mouth with manners befitting queen. She looks uncertain and she should. The final ingredient is the very darkness of my soul. It's why I wipe my lips so carefully – no outward trace of it must be allowed to remain.

"_That should do it."_

Despite my sombre mood, I feel a frisson of excitement - it translates to a twinkle in my eye. In moments, Alice will be back to her normal size. The thought of finally standing face to face with her is thrilling, my hand trembling for an altogether different reason. Incredibly, the darkness cedes to her again, that's twice now she has helped me conquer it. My smile turns genuine. As if she can tell, her own returns. I raise the wooden spoon to her soft lips.

"_Blow."_

She takes a delicate sip, stands up in anticipation. It seems she's used to the after effects, for just in time she clutches the dress that as of…now…is far too big. I see her gaze lower in shyness and yet again I feel the tug of something I don't know. All that I do know is that I wish to be closer to her; allowing myself this weakness, I float round to stand right by her side.

"_Feel better?"_

A queen excels at putting others at ease; I'm a master of the art.

"_Much. Thank you."_

I can see she is happy and this makes me buoyant. Every little thing that I do right, leads her to me, down the chosen path, I mean. But even now I still see hesitation in her eyes and so I know there's something else she needs. My reassurances are not enough however maybe his will favourably tip the scales.

"_There's someone here who'd like to speak with you."_

I extend my hand to her again as we depart. I only crave her touch so that the light returns. I only wish to take her to my chamber so I may clothe her properly. That is what I choose to tell myself.

There's nothing improper about any of this - she is my champion after all, she's Alice.


	3. Interlude

**A/N: Thank you to everyone for the wonderful reviews, I really hope everyone continues to authenticate so I can send a comment of thanks back. This is quite short and isn't a scene we saw onscreen. I hope to have all the chapters done by the end of the weekend.**

The time together in my quarters makes one thing clear – I need her far more than she'll ever need me. Even as I pick out a caftan – a peacock blue to match her eyes – such beautiful eyes (no, mustn't think like that), I happen to glance into my own in the mirror. They're darker than they've ever been, white powder of my mask failing to hide the circles underneath. I can't remember last I slept, who knows what dreamscapes lie in wait? I won't surrender my control despite the weariness each time I spy the bed.

Whereas out there she's my strength, in here she is but my weakness. Fatigue drifts over me - a treacherous blanket - as my mind pictures her on those sheets. What would it be to know the safety of her arms? To let sleep claim me and to feel no fear? I'm startled to realise that I cannot picture it; recall no memory of slumber without dread. What else could I've possibly forgotten; what other parts of me are missing now?

I almost give in to the urge - fall down on my knees and beg – _please allow me rest, make me complete again_. But even as I gaze into my eyes, I catch a fleeting glimpse of hers reflecting in the glass. They're so innocent, uncertain; it's_ I_ that should be lending her my strength. I tell myself that I can wait another night, after all, what's one more drop into a sea of many.

No, tonight isn't about me, even though I desperately wish it was. Below us an entire kingdom awaits – ready to embrace their saviour with open arms. This is something I must not forget – she belongs to them far more than she belongs to me. She is _our_ champion, not mine; I'm only being saved to liberate them.

Bleakness descends on me, unbearable sadness – why is a queen worth nothing herself? Cannot permit myself to dwell on this, I won't – this path exactly where madness lies. As if sensing them, the darkness rouses, instantly poised to act on wretched thoughts. An opportune reminder that the pleasantness is over; past time for Absolom to see her now.

Walking with her through the castle grounds, I wrest a promise from her lips. When she is done here, I bid her join me. It will be late and it's so terribly selfish but I must ascertain her well-being for myself. Tomorrow is Frabjous Day, she _will_ face the Jabberwocky, and she will strike the mortal blow. The notion makes me shiver as much as the loss of her hand leaving mine. How is it that I hardly know her and yet I struggle to let go? Why do I pause to bite my lip, in worry at her trepidation? She has a task to do; mine can't be to shelter her, despite my curious desire to fulfil this role.

He'll push her, I must push her – she is the chosen one, this Alice.


	4. Balcony

She rejoins me and I'm staggered. Absolom has failed for the very first time. Doubt still clouds her eyes – for the task at hand, or simply for me? If I cannot convince her, maybe they can, and so I take her hand and lead her to the balcony above. She can see all of Underland from here; surely her heart will not resist their plight. _Like she does yours_,my darkness mocks me. Distress at this endeavours me to rush it – to push her harder than I ever should.

"_I had hoped to have a champion by now."_

The second the pointed words fall from my lips, I want to take them back, beg her to forgive me my impatience. She turns her face towards me, I can see I've hurt her; instead of drawing her in, I've only pushed her further away. She voices what no-one else dare ask, even though they think it all the same.

"_Why don't you slay the Jabberwocky yourself, you must have the power?"_

She is so soft with it, so kind, that my artifice is helpless - when asked like that there are no secrets I can keep. _Of course, I have the power_, I want to tell her, _but if I use it once, I'll never stop_. There's just enough control left not to say that so I reveal my most sacred oath instead.

"_It is against my vows to harm any living creature."_

The darkness surges in reaction, so willing to disprove myself. It swipes in anger at the firefly that passes, my hands reaching to extinguish its meagre spark. Coldness settles upon me; anguish. I dangle on the precipice, so close to going over its edge that it will take the smallest nudge to send me spiralling down. But it is in the depths of my despair that I find my greatest hope - I sense something, see someone else. Surely? Yes! The telescope shows it to be so. Tarrant, McTwisp, Mallymkun, the Tweedles –my reinforcements have arrived. Fortifications restore temporarily inside my mind as joy floods through me once more. They'll help me, Tarrant has always helped me – he won't fail me now.

"_We have company."_

I leave her safe with Bayard, duty bids that there are preparations to be made. Maybe it's my presence that distracts her, maybe my absence the entity that makes her choice.

* * *

The courtiers gather behind us, standing a respectful distance away. This ragtag bunch my friends, not theirs – I'm fairly certain they do not approve.

Bayard runs to Biele, his pups – I'm so happy for him - it's been so long since any of us have felt contentment's touch. I kiss the Tweedles, feel my own and theirs, this time ever so mindful of my hands.

Lifting my head to greet my favourite hatter, instantly I feel my smile die. He looks ecstatic, so does she, and something ugly ripples through my mind. She's never smiled at me like that, for that matter, neither's he - but I've always been certain of his affection, from him I require nothing more. From her – truly, now I'm lost, for I'm not certain what I want…all that I know is, in this moment, I only wish she would but look like that at me.

These thoughts are most disturbing, troubling, just more to add to scores of those inside my head. Is this another awful thing that's wrong with me? How many more can there possibly be? I let despair overwhelm me - how can I fix them all, can she?

Now she is not the only one with doubts, I allow my own to creep in. She is their champion, this Alice – that is certain - but is she mine after all?


	5. Morning

**A/N: Apologies for the delay, another plot bunny scampered in front of me, and just like Alice, I was somewhat unable to resist its lure. Really hoping to have finished by this weekend, thank you to everyone for continuing to read.**

It takes the morning light to break me, the night's cold touch powerless to crumble my resolve. She's in the room next door to mine, an honour – I tell myself - befitting of her station. I'm as soundless as a wraith, as pale as one too, so it's no effort to sneak in through her door. Creeping towards the bed, I pause just at its edge. She slumbers with abandon, her arms and legs akimbo, sprawled over most of the bed. It is here I truly see her for what she is – a girl on the cusp of womanhood but still a child.

How can I send a child to her death? No,_ stop it, Mirana_ – The Oraculum is not mistaken. In all my life, I've never been so conflicted, so very much unclear on what I want. Recalling how it is she settles me, I resolve to steal the smallest touch. Holding my breath, I almost float down, not exhaling at all until I touch the bed. She doesn't stir, not even a little, and I feel a smile grace my lips. I don't require a mirror to see its bitter sweetness – both tenderness and rage war deep inside me. The sweeter feeling is for her – angelic innocence wrapped up in all that beauty; the much less sweet is for the world – how can it make me outwardly in her image and yet deform the very essence held within? For I'm aware, in her room with all its brightness, it's I that is the only dearth of light.

My hand trembles as it stretches out before me until it feels a perfect golden curl. Its soft and silky texture caresses my fingers, brings back unknown feelings to the fore. I long to lie down beside her, to freely revel in sensation she will bring.

But I am not free.

She stirs as if to remind me. Her lashes flutter open and she finds me with her drowsy gaze. Her lips stretch into a guileless smile.

"I had the most crazy wonderful dream about you."

"Tell me about it."

If I'm to be denied the gift of fantasies, I won't deny myself the pleasure of hers.

"I don't remember it." All of a sudden she looks sad then shakes her head ruefully. "How can I? Who can remember a dream within a dream?"

She still doesn't believe us to be real, doesn't believe _me_ to be real. I wish I could delude myself that I'm not. Then all of this would be so easy, just conjuring of some crazy mind. But I don't have the luxury of such illusion just as find myself denied the luxury of time.

"Get dressed, Alice. And once you're done, come meet me in the courtyard. It's Frabjous Day at last, and there must be a champion."

I rise and turn away so I won't see her face. Or maybe the reason that I turn is so she won't see mine. For when I think of what's to come, overwhelming fear slices through me – equally at the thought that she will be my champion as that she won't.

* * *

The trumpet starts the ceremony at last, its loud noise heralding what's meant to be a joyous occasion. I wonder then, why is it sadness that I feel? Why is it, I'm wracked with doubt? I know she stands beside me; no, that's not right – she's there to my left; but I can't bear to rest my gaze upon her, knowing how powerless I am to sway her feelings or her choice.

"_Who will step forth to be Champion for the White Queen?"_

Despite my thoughts I feel a surge of hope but it is mere seconds before it's crushed. A champion steps forth but not the right one; not one that will be nearly enough.

"_That would be I."_

Briefly, affection drowns the melancholy in me and I make sure that Tarrant sees it on my face. Guilt follows swiftly after, truly, how could I've resented him last night? He's long been there for me – always will be, even after any Alice has come and gone.

As if success rests solely on commitment, each one of them declares themselves in turn. Chessur, Mallymkun, both of the Tweedles – all of them dear, all absurd.

"_You have very poor evaporating skills, I should be the one."_

"_I'll do it."_

"_No, me." _

"_No, me."_

Throughout it all, she remains quiet; we both wait till there's no-one left. Inside I'm weary and resigned – with a soundless sigh I nod down to McTwisp. The Oraculum unrolls towards them, each crashing bounce – a crack upon my heart.

They all inspect it, I don't need to, there's no amount of wishing that can change this Fate. The Tweedles glance up at us, bewildered; foolishly express what I have never wished her know.

"_No other slayer, no how."_

"_If it ain't Alice, it ain't dead."_

Wordlessly, I convey regret to them; wave to and fro my finger in distress. Now she will feel precisely what it is to be me, to carry expectations of them all. I turn to face her, truly anguished, intent as I'm on adding to her weight.

"_Alice…"_

The carefully chosen words rise up to exit, yet as I gaze at her, they never leave my lips. I've made my choice - I won't push her - will not use force to taint the liberty of hers.

For whilst it's _her_ that I address before me - these words are _my_ truth, so germane to myself.

"…_you cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours. Because when you step out to face that creature, you will step out alone."_

And yes, just as I thought, she feels my burden; its weight reflecting clearly in her eyes. We watch her back away and I can't bear to condemn her, for every day I've faced the struggle of this toll.

She turns and runs and I'm besieged by desolation, but of a different nature from the one that plagues the rest. Their sadness roots in disapproval – without experience, they can't hope to understand. My own originates in insight – it's why my feet move after her of their own accord – for all I long to do is give her solace, proffer acceptance constantly denied to me.

For even if she's truly not _our_ Champion, this Alice, I find it matters more she is her own, eventually.


	6. Preparation

**A/N:** My sincere apologies for the months that it has been since I updated this piece. For some reason my motivation and inspiration for it completely died. I think quite likely because I am not a huge fan of the ending and obviously I have to fit the story into the movie's frame. Either way, for whatever reason (perhaps simple guilt), it temporarily came back and so I put together this chapter. With any luck it'll hold until I can finish it all.

This is dedicated to a special person whose birthday it is today. I know she's long been waiting to see this tale finished so I think it's a fitting present to have it progress a (very short) chapter closer to the end. Whilst discretion prevents me from naming her directly, I do hope all of you wish her a happy birthday as well!

To all the reviewers for this work - it's been so long since I have touched...I hope you still enjoy!

* * *

I make all the preparations – those that they know about, those that they don't. With every fibre of my being I long to find her but I resist – it's futile; it serves no purpose other than my own pleasure, and we are all still counting the cost of that. Instead I think: on what Iracebeth will do when she has won, what they – Marmoreal – will be without me, the hours of darkness to come and those that have been and gone. That last thought is almost more than I can bear – the shadows rake their claws across my stomach in anticipation, and so I reach for it, palm the tiny vial into my hand. My last resort – a coward's way out – yet it might be the only thing that saves me should Iracebeth make good on the promise she made so long ago.

"She is _the_ Alice, your Majesty."

His voice is sing-song, almost playful – crazy – but in these last few years there is a madness in us all. Interwoven with the mad he has a confidence, a certainty I don't, conviction that I cannot feel. "Maybe so, Tarrant," my own doubts answer for me, "and maybe she is not."

"I'm certain of it."

A tendril of anger - guilt – curls through me. "We have _all_ been certain once before."

"It is not your fault… Mirana," sadness now weaves through the confidence, lucidity. "That day you lost your… crown, none of us could have prevented it or known."

"You are wrong, Tarrant." I weigh it up, there's nothing left to lose, no point in keeping secrets. "She is my blood, my kin; I'm always in the know. We are the same, Tarrant, there's no point in denying it, no matter how much it pains me to say. Bloody Big Head, that's what I've heard you call her – a different toss of the coin and you could have been referring to me. What would you call me, do you think, my dear Tarrant? Were I to be right there in her place, what cruel title would you have bestowed?"

He looks chagrined, swallows, "You will never be her, your Majesty."

"Never say never, Tarrant." I confirm what he has always seen, what he has always guessed at, "The same blood flows through our veins. It's why I should have known - because I feel it: the same strong urge, the blood lust that she feels today. The one that's past, the one she'll feel tomorrow, the one that only grows and grows."

"You've always fought it."

"Yes, but I grow tired of resisting. There is a weariness inside me that parallels the darkness in its strength. I weaken every day, little by little, and I –" inadvertently my voice breaks. There is a ringing noise echoing in my ears – laughter; the darkness… mercilessly mocking me - the good side for being drained. "I – I do not know how much more I can endure before I lose my tenuous control. Iracebeth won't… spare me this time, Tarrant, she'll show no mercy – I will be made into an example to you all."

The shadows in his eyes are first-hand knowledge, memories of pain and torture suffered at my sister's hands. "I know." He moves beside me till he's far too close for propriety, his hand encompassing my own, compassion cutting through the other emotions in his eyes. "But this is not the answer." His hand is quicker - stronger than my own and before I know it, the liquid seeps out through our fingers, the vial crushed. "Moreover, you do not require it," his eyes suddenly twinkle again, "after all, if not Alice for your champion, you have the next best thing!" It is only now I notice the rusty broadsword beside him – the gift from his mother before she knew for certain that he'd be a Hatter like the rest. "I will not fail you, Mirana." He is all earnestness again and I don't have the heart to tell him that the truth is – he already has. The potion he has wasted was the last I had, I do not have the time to make another, and in the battle with the Jabberwocky, the outcome has been predicted – he will die.

Which means that I cannot.

For without the means of my own magic he is but the only one I trust: to make the hardest choice, to… execute my final wishes before –

McTwisp's loud trumpet heralds the beginning of the end.

"We are all ready, your majesty," Tarrant pronounces, his chest puffed out with pride and bluster. _To lay our lives down for_ _you_ lingers unspoken.

_You are not nearly ready; no-one can prepare you. _I smile instead; gently brush his face with my fingertips in fondness. _But at least __you, my dearest friend, will not die by my hand._


	7. Decision

I am serene as I gaze out over the entirety of my army, more than a match for any of the Red but not enough to slay the Jabberwocky.

She isn't coming.

My fingers twitch and flutter so I grab the reins, soothe Baymont with my other hand. I can't be seen to appear hesitant or anxious, not when they are watching me. "_A queen must always inspire confidence in those who follow her_," I hear my mother say.

_Our mother._

The voice is clear inside my head though just as our mother's it cannot be real. At least, I do not think it's real. Is it? I frown and sensing my uncertainty, Baymont nuzzles his nose into my hand. He is as faithful as my dear Tarrant; has been right by my side throughout it all, even before that dreadful day.

_I will destroy him. _

The whispers are insidious.

He snorts a little, the brown of his eye connects with mine; I glimpse that unlike those around me, he truly understands what our fate will be: my own… consequently his. He whinnies and I hear forgiveness, it shatters me like nothing ever will. Yet curiously it infuses me with sheer determination – I'll fight Iracebeth, I've always bested her, I've strength enough to even defeat…

… _myself? Or should that be yourself? _

The whispers flow together as a river, the undercurrents of their murky depth a litany of hate.

Once again my fingers are my doubts incarnate and I cannot resist throwing a parting backwards glance. At what will cease to be, at what I leave behind, but mostly I seek a final chance to gaze at that which's never been mine to lose.

_She isn't coming_.

The taunting is relentless, the river now a turbulent persistent roar.

I swallow as the tiny light inside me flickers, trembles, is swallowed by the power of that devastating force. It dies, extinguished by my own hand, and I glance down as I mourn its passing – the remnant of my once profound hope. Swallowing, steeling myself for what's to come, I almost miss it – the different intensity, the change in all the anger, the newfound outwardly flowing rage. My eyes fly to the doors as I detect the faintest of sounds; I am sure through my ears, and yet… it resonates the strongest in my heart. It grows – until I know that they can hear it, until it's real, until the sea of white springs hastily apart.

She is magnificent upon that foul beast: her wild wavy strands trailing in her wake, the Vorpal sword in hand, the gleam from the meticulously polished armour that she'll never know I shined, rivalled only by the brilliance of her smile. I know immediately this is how I'll always picture her, how she'll forever remain etched inside my mind.

Her eyes crinkle a little at the corners, even as her mouth quirks, _you really weren't certain that I'd come._

_I was always certain_, my own convey as mutely whilst I move to mount Baymont. Her knowing grin confirms that she's aware that's a lie.

But she says nothing as I settle and arrange my skirts, we both observe the Knight remove the tiny stairs, then we exchange another silent look.

_I won't fail you, Mirana. I __**am**__ certain._

My own eyes smile back, _I know._

It may be written in the stars, foretold in The Oraculum, but as I nod for us to journey to our fate, I realise that had I seen the opposite predicted, the confidence that sings within my veins at her mere presence is all the proof I need that she's my champion, regardless of the form.


	8. Prelude

Our journey mostly passes in silence – a short and sombre trip, but then again, that's rather fitting – there is a chance all of us travel to our death. It's almost as we reach the chessboard, our battlefield, that Alice clears her throat hesitantly and asks one question that I don't want to answer, brings up one memory that shouldn't linger in my mind.

"Was she always like… this?"

_Was I always like this?_ I hear echo in my ears and I resist the bitter frantic laughter that wells up on my lips, deny it release. My pained grimace only seems to bring more questions, a shadow quickly flitting through her eyes as she looks into mine. I wonder then if she can truly see into my own, can tell what I am thinking. She opens her mouth and I hear, "We are here."

But it is not her voice; Tarrant's instead, ever coming to my rescue. I nod to him in gratitude, he beams a gap toothed smile back. I wonder why it is that I have never been able to love him the way I've always wanted to, the way I know he'd probably return. Why has he never inspired in me the level of feeling this small slip of a girl does with a mere look?

A Pawn manoeuvres the stairs to my side; I climb down gracefully, as I have done so many times. My eyes take in the sight in front of me… Ilosovic is by her side. He always is these days, could not bear a name that's more appropriate: the very epitome of a stain besmirching everything within. How far has she allowed his influence to reach? How far has he corrupted her? How many actions have been her own, how many his?

I glide, expression regal, as she walks towards me… but with every step I see the picture change. The colours bleed as if a pail of water has been thrown over our surroundings and where the colour stills, I see a very different scene.

"Hello… Iracebeth."

"Hello… Miwana."

And just like that, I am five years old again.

_The sunshine is oh so bright within the courtyard of the castle – a spotlight on the ruins of the beauty that has once bloomed vividly around me. I only longed to see what lay within, what once was covered by the petals, what our mother had meant when she had said these roses were our father's love._

"_What have you done, Miwana?"_

_I swallow hard as I look down around me, the snowy white petals littering the ground. "I wanted to see…." I whisper hesitantly, "I wanted to see…." But the truth is I don't know. The usual urge rose up within me: to peel each petal from the bud, to crush the fragile flower, I only wanted to… destroy. I start to cry, I know I am in trouble, these roses were our father's gift to our mother – his parting gift before he led the army to the Outlands, from whence he's yet to actually return._

"_Sshhh…" I am wrapped in a warm embrace, Iracebeth's breath carrying a tang of peppermint as she murmurs in my ear, "Don't cry."_

"_I – I'm s-sorry,"_ _I sob a little harder and I truly am_, that's something I have never forgotten, I didn't mean to do it, I didn't mean to –

"_What is the meaning of this?" The voice cuts sharper than any blade. Cold sweat breaks out on my brow, I know that Iracebeth is feeling the same – a hint of moisture slicks her palm. _

_We both slowly turn, she keeping my hand in hers, shoving me out of sight behind her as she hisses, "Keep quiet, not a word."_

"_Iracebeth?" Our mother's voice is quiet, dangerously low, "Would you care to explain?"_

"_Uh, it was like that when we got here. We just came in a moment ago and we found this. I am sorry, mother. I know how much these meant to you."_

_The queen advances slowly on us both, towers over us, anger and sorrow shadowing her face. Her eyes fall on me and I know she'll see and so I shut them… and keep them closed and until I hear her say, "I told you, Iracebeth. You were warned the last time and now you don't even have the decency to tell the truth."_

"_But I didn't –"_

"_You never do, Iracebeth, but this is the final straw. You leave for Gui'lirden right now, to the nuns of Zah'irren… who, I can only hope, will be able to –" Our mother's voice breaks and I finally open my eyes, shocked to see the sadness veiled by a glint of tears._

"_I didn't do this." Iracebeth's teeth are as clenched as her entire body, my hand painfully crushed in hers._

"_Then tell me, Iracebeth, who did?"_

_A silence reigns across the courtyard, heavy and oppressive. Finally my mother shakes her head, "That's what I thought."_

The trumpet cuts across the memory, "On this the Frabjous Day, the queens – red and white – shall send forth their champions to do battle on their behalf."

I am plunged again into the memories of when my sister was my champion, the overwhelming feeling of love flowing through my veins as if that day was yesterday, "Oh Rascie, we don't have to fight."

"I know what you're doing, you think you can blink those pretty little eyes and I'll melt, just like Mummy and Daddy did."

The accusation lingers in the air between us just as our shared memories darken our eyes. Our parents have never thought me bad, before that day, and all the ones that followed after, they'd always refused to see what lay within. Had I confessed that day, I'm not so certain that my mother would have believed me… but just like many things, it's in the past, we'll never know.

"Please…." It is not just me that whispers it, the five year old Mirana pleads as well.

"_Please…." My eyes beg my Rascie as I see the guards advance upon us. "Please let me tell the truth."_

Please tell me I can change.

"_No," she squeezes my hand till I am sure that my bones will crack. The guards lift theirs to grasp her shoulder firmly._

"NO!"

I jolt… the 'no's could not be any further apart.

"It is MY crown!"

Her eyes are crazed with bloodlust and despair overwhelms my love: this is what I'll be without a champion, what I will turn into if Alice does not succeed.

"_I am the eldest," _I allow the final softness of the memory envelop my subconscious for a moment, let go of the girl that I once knew, as she transforms into the hate-filled creature echoing her younger self grotesquely, "I AM THE ELDEST!" An instant later, "JABBERWOCKY!"

She turns and we all watch the Red Cards part.

We both back up: she from myself; I from my memory, my love. I watch my consort cower as her ferocious beast strides forward, leaps, destroying all that trembles in its path.

"Where is _your_ champion, sister?" Iracebeth's sardonic gaze pierces me. _Now that I'm not there for you_, _now you are weak._

The armour tinkles quietly as she walks right by me. Involuntarily I smile softly, but no matter how I long to touch her once for luck, I gently lift my hand. _"She destroys everything that she touches."_ Another memory floats through my mind swiftly; my mother's words haunting me as often as my crushing guilt.

Yes, as do I.

_Good luck, my champion_, I smile, _good luck, my dear Alice._ With resignation I admit, _even if you cannot save me from myself. _


	9. Choice

**A/N: Well, I cannot believe we are finally at the end. There were honestly times I never thought this fic would get finished... actually ANY AIW fic of mine would get finished. This started as a bit of fun to practice writing and because I always wondered, "Well, what exactly is Mirana thinking during...?" Somehow, in amongst all the light-hearted fun, it took on a life of its own and became this really massive thing that was suddenly incredibly important to get right.**

**I am sure in three months time I'll revisit this and change my mind and mentally moan about the twenty things that I wish I could change because it would have been better if... but then again, there's always a 'what if' so this'll just have to stay exactly what it is.**

**I have to thank everyone again for the plethora of wonderful comments. I won't deny that they made this fic what it is... and in many ways inspired me to be far more 'serious' about it than I ever wanted to be... but it's good to be pushed and inspired, so to everyone who's read and commented - thank you very much. On that note, I made a list of those I couldn't reply to as they weren't signed in, so all the following stand up and pat yourselves on the back from me: Chachacheese, roflroflrofl (FAR too kind!), Marlissa, rachel, Hoppy, Tauphe, tokyo_chic, .7, Ashley, dinsdale, butterfly wings and Mirgonus. Everyone else who commented - hopefully you got a direct reply.**

******Onyxworrystone - thanks for always shooting the breeze...and exchanging story ideas and Mirana love!**

**For all the readers - I hope it's been fun!**

**For anyone who doesn't know... the sequel to this - Alice Kingsleigh - is almost finished... I have 1 chapter to post. We will then move onto the last story in the 'trilogy' - Iracebeth of Crims. Because, above all, the bad mad girls deserve love too... well, bad mad girls not called Mirana, that is. So the conclusion to this 'Malice' story will arrive sometime during that... *evil grin***

* * *

I tell myself that I must stay just like Iracebeth. I cannot leave, I cannot look away. It takes the slashing cut of a forked ted tongue to remind me why I cannot - must not remain on the field – as Alice deliberately hacks off the creature's tongue. Bile rises within me, darkness too – the din, the clamour – 'tis why no violence must ever stride my castle's halls.

Yet at the same time I am stricken with concern: I try to leave, I try to turn away, but I am helpless to stop watching, my eyes drawn to the battle time and time again. It's not that I do not believe the prophecy, do not believe in her – I do – but it's as if I need the visual reassurance that she'll triumph, that in the process she won't come to any harm.

"Mirana, you must go, this will nae be pretty. And you must no' risk staying here, not in this melee."

"Worried for me, Tarrant?" I smile softly.

"More for the rest of us… imagine our embarrassment were we to triumph, only to find we have lost oor' queen."

"Well then," I find the time to execute a playful curtsy, "I'd hate to have you feel embarrassment, kind sir."

The smile vanishes as quickly as it comes, his grip tightening around the sword, "If I should…"

"Don't." My own slides easily in place… as do my words. "Alice will slay the Jabberwocky, good will triumph over evil, and everything will go back to normal."

"Are you certain?"

The veil of madness clouding the green lifts temporarily and I'm confronted by a sharp and probing gaze. His words echo his own earlier but they are not the same, instead a focused question, one that reveals to me the truth – he sees the doubt within.

I move to reassure him, "Of course, my dear Tarrant."

The lie sits easily, the guilt does not.

"The Oraculum is just a scroll, do not forget." His words reflect the wisdom of his years, "It, just as everything, is crafted by a human hand."

"You do not believe in fate and magic?"

"I believe in action… and I believe that when the time comes, we all… choose."

"Some choices are more… difficult than others."

He grins and nods, "If all were easy, there would be no wrong."

A second later this is painfully confirmed – Alice goes flying again, she'll certainly have bruises in the morning, but this time… I can feel my heart stutter a beat as we both watch the clatter of the sword. It lands some distance away, I swallow and he glances to me, a silent question in his eyes. I do not say a thing; I make no movement, nary even a flutter of an eyelash – in this, as ever, I must remain Mirana – the just, benevolent, impartial queen.

He acts without my permission, though he has it, perhaps much later when it's done I shall go walking in the garden, find him beneath the willow tree and ask whether the choice was of his own accord or whether what I must conceal betrayed me. Not that it really matters, I suppose, for the choice is made regardless… be it by my own will or his.

_"The Hatter's interfering! Off with his head!"_

I see him brace, stride forward as the tide of red begins its swell upon Iracebeth's barked orders. He raises his sword, I turn and glance away; my knight draws up beside me. I mean to nod my acquiescence, move to safety, I mean to be what I must be… and yet I do not move.

* * *

_"Off with your head!"_

Another moment that imbeds itself within my mind, this one the opposite of pleasant, as Alice, mid-flight, brings down the Vorpal sword and slices off the Jabberwocky's head.

The rush, the power, the vortex of feeling rises up within me; I am certain I almost gasp, so strong is the maelstrom of emotion in my chest. We watch the head bounce down the stairs, akin to how the scroll unfurled this morning, this time each bounce an entirely different crack. The fissures in my heart ooze only kindness, expose mercy, pity overwhelms me when I spy the sadness in my sister's eyes. Mere moments later it is but bewilderment distorting them, as they all refuse to execute her orders, the Red Cards throwing down their arms. I know that I should feel triumphant, must be satisfied, but every fibre of my being craves the safety of the bars.

It's as if my prayers are answered or perhaps Cheshire reads my mind – he's as ancient as he is mysterious – and he floats the crown over to my head, it changing on the way. I close my eyes, envisage the malevolence; the crown settles… and as it comes to rest, the bars slam down, trapping it in place. But even as the winds of change caress my face and brush my hair, I feel unsettled, concentrate much harder, and it's only then I truly understand. The bars, not those of ten years ago, not nearly as strong or tough, are spaced a little too far apart so I can see the tendrils reaching, their darkness touching - tainting where they should not be able to reach. I swallow: to relieve the dryness in my throat, the premonition, the terrible realisation running through my mind. The bars will hold, they will contain the darkness for a while but they – the crown – are no longer enough; not the impenetrable wall that can't be breached.

It is perhaps the lingering dismay and horror that obscures the pity, that veils the kindness, the benevolence I'm meant to show. _"Iracebeth of Crims, your crimes against Underland are worthy of death. However, that is against my vows."_ To all around me, I am the essence of light, showing my sister only mercy, but in her eyes I read the terror of what's coming next. _"Therefore, you're banished to the Outlands, no-one is to show you any kindness or speak a word to you. You will not have a friend in the world."_

We're sisters, we're blood, we are one – each one of us so very aware of the other and so I know... she fears this far more than she has ever feared death. For I deny her the one thing she craves, the one thing she has always sought but never gained – acceptance. Perhaps she would have never gained it without my punishment but we will never know for these few words have stripped all chance of it away. Her gaze connects with mine before she glances down and I see it – recognition – her dark eyes mocking me, _you won't escape my fate._

_"Majesty, I hope you bear me no ill will."_

His smile sickens me and this time I do not conceal revulsion, consigning my sister to an even worse course. _"Only this one, Ilosovic Stayne, you're to join Iracebeth in banishment from this day until the end of Underland."_

I know what he will do before he does – pure evil, unlike madness, is predictable – I know that Tarrant sees it too and so I trust him to take care of Stayne.

_"Majesty, please, kill me… please," _Stayne begs as he is dragged away.

My answer is not mine, yet it is. I know inside that this will guide me from this day, _"But I do not owe you a kindness."_ This isn't who I was, this isn't who I should be… but I am. In this, Iracebeth must take the blame as much as I – her rule has changed me – and she must grasp that I am not a person she will fool again.

_"He tried to kill me, HE TRIED TO KILL ME,"_ her rage is evident across her face; I stare in her eyes and let her know the truth, _you tried to kill me… and now you must live with the consequences of your acts_.

_"Oh Frabjous Day!"_ His joy pulls me out of my morbid, morose thoughts, sends a shiver down my spine. At least he is himself again, and if just one person – especially Tarrant – has reverted to his prior self then this not a moment for reflection but a cause for celebration.

If even one is saved, I haven't failed.

I smile, I cannot help it, he's so happy – I've never quite had the heart to tell him how I hate that dance. The music pulls me in and I allow myself a second's pleasure – a carefree swaying to the merry tune. There will be time for contemplation, grief and preparation later, but just for now I let his joyful cheer course my veins. My hands, always my hands, lift of their own accord and clutch in front of me in satisfaction as I acknowledge the delightful fact that Tarrant's truly back.

It's only then my eyes catch sight of her, remind me to whom I owe… well, everything – a debt that I can never hope to repay. The smile disappears as the weight of expectation crushes me: theirs, hers, my own should I let it.

This is not her place.

She doesn't belong down here with the rest of us, can't be expected to remain. She has her life to live, her world to change, she won't be able to achieve that down in Underland… her job is not to fight the darkness in me - by my side.

I slide to the Jabberwocky's head – the stench is overwhelming… the creature's rotten breath; the one in front of me or one residing in myself - I shy away from thinking as I let the liquid drip. Finished at last, I rise, advancing to my champion, _"The blood of the Jabberwocky, you have our everlasting gratitude…and for your efforts on our behalf…"_ I proffer the vial. It takes all the kindness within not to crush it in my hand. Her finger barely brushes mine but I feel it everywhere, the bars inside my mind somehow reinforced.

_"Will this take me home?"_ Her heartfelt questions shakes me for I long for it to be - to answer – _Alice, you're already home._

Instead, I smile and I hope that she doesn't see my desolation as I utter softly,_ "If that is what you choose." _Tarrant's words flit through my mind and I know the choice is mine more than hers – I have a crossroads before me – I can step back, let her traverse her own path or I can ask she stay. Her eyes hold innocence, her face shows earnest youth; it would be oh so easy. Before I know it, I am bestowing a caress. A simple brush –a nothing, yet and everything – it centres me like nothing ever could. _Do not forget me_, my eyes beg. _I won't_, hers return, but we both know it's an illusion – back in her own world, I do not - cannot exist.

I move to stand behind my ragtag bunch of friends, everyone but Tarrant; I long to call him over, ask him not to plead. He does, of course; perhaps he has less strength than I, or maybe more. Just as she would me, she rebuffs him… and I am both glad and saddened that I didn't ask.

For even if it's taken all this time to see it, I've come to understand the painful truth.

She is a champion, this Alice – theirs, his.

She's even mine.

But all the longing in this world can't make us hers.


End file.
